


Small Paul's Singularge Experience

by The_Anglophile



Series: All Beatles Fic by The_Anglophile [7]
Category: Help! (1965), The Beatles
Genre: Crack, M/M, Small Paul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Anglophile/pseuds/The_Anglophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crack-flavoured slash.  Paul's Adventures On The Floor quickly become sexy when John starts getting ideas for activities to pursue with his tiny bandmate.  Set in the Help! universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Paul's Singularge Experience

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with The Beatles, and all real names are used in a strictly fictional context.
> 
> A/N: Written for [this kinkmeme prompt!](http://kinkme-beatles.livejournal.com/1134.html?thread=124782#t124782) (Go write some fic for the kinkmeme, it needs some love!)

"Paul? Where are you, Paul?"

All three full-sized Beatles were crouched gingerly around the bed where Paul had last been seen, scanning the floor for signs of a squished bandmate. Ahme said that the injection would wear off quickly, but it was taking longer than expected, which worried everyone.

"I found him!" Ringo exclaimed, "Look, he's not squashed." John, George, and Ahme huddled around him, looking at the ashtray where Paul was crouched. He was still no taller than a cigarette.

John leaned down to look at him. "Paul, are you all right?" He leaned down further, squinting at the ashtray. "What's he doing? I can't--"

"He's giving you a thumbs-up, you dick; put on your glasses," George said. John made a face at him.

"What can we do?" Ringo said to Ahme. "Is there any way to get him back to normal?"

"Yes," she said, "There is a fast-acting remedy. But I do not have the solution with me."

"Can you get it easily?" John asked.

She nodded and started towards the door. "Come. We will retrieve the antidote." George and Ringo stood up immediately, but John remained where he was.

"I'll stay and take care o' the little one," he explained.

"I CAN HEAR YOU!" Paul yelled. He was just barely audible. John ignored him.

"We will return as soon as we can," Ahme assured him and she and the two other Beatles rushed out into the night. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, John pulled his glasses out of his pocket and put them on. He took a good look at Paul.

"What's that you've got on?" he asked. Paul said something, but it was too quiet to hear. "Speak up, son, your voice is as tiny as you are." He leaned an ear closer and heard Paul shout, "Gum wrapper!"

"Clever," John said. "Here, I've got an idea," he added, and held out his hand, palm up, next to the ashtray. "Hop on." Paul looked at him sceptically, crossing his arms. This didn't seem like a good idea, knowing John. "Come on," John coaxed, "I'm going to put you on my shoulder so you don't have to shout." Well, that sounded all right. Paul tucked the gum wrapper more snugly around himself and climbed over the rim of the ashtray, stepping lightly onto John's hand. His bare feet sinking slightly into the warm flesh was the weirdest sensation he'd ever experienced. He crouched and braced himself as John carefully lifted his hand, then he climbed off John's hand and stepped onto his shoulder, grasping John's hair with both hands to steady himself.

"You holding on?" John asked, "I'm gonna get up."

"Yeah, go on," Paul replied.

"I can hear you much better now!" John commented as he carefully got to his feet.

"And now you're really loud; could you bring it down a bit?"

"Yeah, sorry," John said softly.

"You think they'll actually find that antidote?"

"I dunno, I'm hoping you'll stay small so we can tour as a genuine freak show from now on."

Paul laughed. "Don't get your hopes up. At the rate we're going, all four of us will be freaks of some kind before Ringo can get that damn ring off."

John went to the kitchen and pulled a small dish from the cupboard, filling it with warm water from the tap. Paul watched curiously. "What's this?" he asked.

"Couldn't help noticing you're covered in something sticky, so I thought you'd want to have a wash," John responded, setting the dish on the counter. "Wanna?"

"Yeah, why not," Paul agreed. He climbed onto the offered hand and John let him off next to the dish.

"I'll find you a 'towel'," John said with a smirk and went to look for something suitable to the purpose. Paul glanced around the room. The kitchen in the flat wasn't especially big, but now it looked positively cavernous, like a cathedral. Paul turned to the dish, which to him was the size of a large bathtub and put his hand in the water. It was a fine temperature, so he gladly stripped off the gum wrapper, dropping it to the counter, and climbed over the edge of the dish into the water. He sank down into the pleasant warmth and rubbed himself clean as he watched John rummaging around in the cupboards. John finally returned, grasping something lightly between finger and thumb.

"Couldn't find much in your size," John said, "So I clipped off the corner of a towel for you. Isn't it cute?" This last was said in a silly voice, the way one would speak to a dog or a baby, as John fluttered the bit of cloth about.

"Oh, shut up. Give it here." Paul demanded, holding out an arm for the 'towel'.

"His Tiny Highness's Towel," John announced with mock-formality, delicately holding out the towel with thumb and forefinger of both hands. Paul rolled his eyes and stood up carefully in the dish, steadying himself on the rim as he stepped out. He swiped the towel from John's fingers and began drying himself off. John leaned his elbows on the counter and watched.

"You're so, so small," John commented as Paul dried his hair.

"What, you just noticed?"

"Even your prick is tiny now; I can barely see it."

Paul snorted. "Is that all you can think about, you randy old dog?"

"I just wonder if it would even work anymore."

"I'm sure it would; I feel normal, John, it's just that everything else is massive." A wicked grin started blooming on John's face. Paul knew where this was going.

"You wanna try it, then?"

"Are you barmy? How the hell d'you reckon that one?"

"Like this," John said, and began to extend a hand towards Paul.

"Whoa, whoa," Paul backed away, waving for John to stop. John pulled his hand back.

"Aw, come on, Paulie, it's just me. I'll be careful."

" _Really_ careful?"

"I'll be as careful as if I'd caught me a pretty little fairy in the back garden," John said, smirking.

Paul gasped in mock-outrage, "Me? Fairy? I think the fairy's the one who wants to play with me prick."

"Queer."

"Fag."

"Queen."

"Nancy-boy."

"Prick-licker."

"We gonna be here all night, or are you gonna toss me off, then?" Paul interrupted, cocking his head and making the face that always persuaded John, no matter his current mood or state of distraction. It worked as usual.

"Oh aye. Come 'ead, Paulie," John growled in his dirty old man voice, "Let's see to that bonny wee cock o' yours." He held out his hand, palm up for Paul to step onto.

John went to his bed and let Paul climb onto the pillow before he started stripping off. He left his clothes in a careless heap and got down into the bed, finding Paul sitting cross-legged on the pillow, having abandoned his towel. He was watching John with fascination. It was incredible to see his friend in this strange new way, the way a mouse would see him.

"So, Paulie, what would you like?" John asked with a smile.

Paul thought for a moment. "Hmm. Why don't you just lie down and let me have a look 'round? You're as big as a house, now."

John carefully lay down, his head resting on the pillow next to Paul.

"Jesus, John, you know you've got little wrinkles all over your face?"

John's brow furrowed. "Shaddap and get to work, McCartney."

Paul smirked and made his way to John's shoulder, climbing over his collarbone and onto his chest. He stood up cautiously, finding his footing on the soft, warm skin. He could feel the bones underneath when he shifted his weight.

"Will you stop squirming about? That feels bizarre."

"You think _that_ feels bizarre? How about this?" Paul walked gingerly over to one of John's nipples and placed his bare foot on it, rubbing it around slightly. The nipple perked up, forming a little fleshy mound about the size of an apple, relative to Paul's current size. Paul crouched down and grabbed it with both hands, squishing it a bit, enjoying the novelty of playing with a now-gigantic body part, which was normally small.

"I'll never top this," John commented, "This is fucking mad."

"You're telling me!" Paul replied, "I'm the one squeezing a giant nipple!"

"Ya know, I've got a giant somethin' else you might wanna see to..." John grinned. Paul's eyes widened; he'd been so caught up in this new experience he'd forgotten the obvious. He glanced down John's body to see what appeared to be a huge, flesh-toned Modernist sculpture looming in the distance. A jolt of excitement shot through him. John's cock wasn't completely hard yet, but it was getting that way, Paul could clearly see, and this surreal viewpoint was making him very horny. He stood up and eagerly started south, stumbling when he left John's ribcage. The flesh of John's belly was like walking on sofa cushions, so Paul had to slow his pace a little to avoid toppling over. At last he reached his destination.

John's pubes were a wild auburn jungle surrounding his ever-lengthening cock, and Paul waded into the hair to reach the base of the penis, admiring a vein the size of his hand making its way up the shaft. He reached out and pressed it down, delighted by how it sprung back into shape when he took his hand away. In amongst the hair, Paul noted that John's smell was quite strong, heady even, but he didn't find it unpleasant. To the contrary, it turned him on even more. He looked up at John's face, quite some distance away, and couldn't conceal his look of amazement and desire.

"Whadda ya think, Paulie?" John asked eagerly, "You wanna?" Paul watched in awe as the huge phallus in front of him twitched and hardened up even further.

"Hell yes, I do, John luv!" Paul agreed with a grin. He walked down to the tip of John's cock, which was hovering over his belly, and climbed astride it, like he would a horse. As John watched in delight, he licked both the palms of his hands and started rubbing firmly all around the head where it met the foreskin, slipping his fingers over the hot, slick flesh. The heat of John's cock under him was intense, and the way it moved sometimes really made the whole thing feel like a surreal Freudian dream about riding a wild stallion.

Paul's own penis was rock hard by this point, and he slid up a little so he could grind his crotch against the pliant foreskin. He wrapped his legs around as far as they would go, and rode hard for a minute until he heard John groan. A cloudy drop of pre-cum squeezed out of the tip of John's penis and Paul quickly reached forward, scooped it up, and rubbed it all over his chest, giving John a naughty grin.

"Ahh, Paul, you tiny tease, dismount for a minute, would ya?" Paul obliged. Lust was written all over John's face, and he reached down and grabbed his cock with one hand, and pointed to a spot on his belly with the other. "Sit there, would you?"

"Yeah, but hang on a sec', I want to see this," Paul replied, walking over to John's cock, which was now being held upright. "Jesus," Paul exclaimed, "It's taller than I am!" He laughed and gave the huge appendage a hug.

It was John's turn to laugh. "I wish I had a camera!" he said.

"Fuck!" Paul exclaimed, "That's a brilliant idea! Go get mine from my desk!"

"Really?"

"Yeah! Do it! This is a Kodak moment if I ever saw one!" John carefully picked Paul up and made a quick trip to find the camera before returning to his bed. They giggled and took as many pictures as were left on the roll of film, with Paul in all sorts of naughty poses with John's penis. The last one they did, with Paul licking the slit on the head, turned them both on enough that they abandoned the camera and decided to continue where they'd left off before embarking on their photographic adventure.

Paul situated himself on John's belly, while John grabbed his own cock and began jerking off. For Paul, the view was incredible, and he couldn't resist giving himself a jerk as he watched John getting closer and closer. Paul left off when he realised John was on the edge, and when John gasped with pleasure, the movement of his abdomen jolting Paul into the air slightly, Paul shut his eyes tight and turned his head away from the oncoming deluge.

He was fully expecting it, but it still came as a wonderful shock to feel the hot come splatter onto his face and body and drip down all over him. The hot, thick liquid seemed in endless supply, and by the time John had jerked the last of it out, Paul's hair was completely saturated, and there was hardly a clean spot on his body. He wiped his face off as best he could and opened his eyes, turning around to look at John.

John gave a deep, relaxed sigh. "Pity we didn't save any film," he commented to Paul, "You look fantastic like that." Paul blushed a little, then mischievously scooped up a handful of jissom and started licking it up like melting ice cream, much to John's delight. "All right, you can knock it off, Paulie. I'm gonna get hard again if you keep that up."

Paul smiled and attempted to get to his feet, but as soon as he took a step, he slipped and landed on his arse in the puddle of come. He burst out laughing and so did John, and Paul ended up having to crawl on his hands and knees to a drier area of John's body. He then had a wonderful idea.

"John, darling," he enquired, "will you clean me off? It is your mess, after all."

"Of course," John agreed, and began to reach for a tissue, but Paul stopped him.

"No, no," he said, "Do it with your tongue."

John just looked at him for a minute, a smirk creeping across his features. "And you call ME a dirty bastard!" he said finally. Paul grinned.

They rearranged themselves so Paul was lying on John's hand, which was resting on the pillow. John looked down at Paul lying there, all tiny and dripping in come, and he could hardly believe that the past hour had really been part of reality. Surely they'd just smoked too much reefer and this was a drugged dream? Well, dream or not, he was _very_ happy to be in it.

Paul stretched himself out like a cat lying in the sun and waited for what was sure to be a brilliant experience. "Here goes," John said, and leaned his face down close over Paul, his tongue emerging from his mouth like a great red sea monster, shining with saliva. He started with a soft swipe up Paul's legs.

"Ooooh!" Paul burst out, "Do it again!" John obliged, this time running his tongue over Paul's torso. It was almost an indescribable feeling, sort of like having a wet, hot, gooey, very soft carpet rubbed over his skin, or like being pushed against by a giant eel or a snake, or some other smooth, muscular creature.

John was clearly enjoying it too, as he started delicately going about his task, sliding the tip of his tongue under Paul's arms, over his neck, and very very softly over his face and hair, cleaning off every little bit of his come from Paul's body. It was the best, and weirdest, massage Paul had ever had.

"Flip over, lad, gotta get yer backside," John said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Paul gladly did so and John made sure to spend extra time wriggling his tongue around Paul's arse and between his legs, making him writhe with pleasure.

Finally, he had Paul turn back over again, and he got to work getting Paul off, the hot wet softness of his tongue running over Paul's thighs, belly, balls, and cock all at once. He got a good rhythm going and soon enough Paul was moaning and rocking his hips against John's tongue, his tiny hands gripping the skin of the hand that held him.

"Ah, baby!" Paul exclaimed, and a little bright spot of bitterness burst onto John's tongue. John slowed down his licking as Paul panted and lay still, and finally pulled his tongue away. Paul was smiling deliriously, his eyes blissfully shut, his skin flushed with pleasure. John leaned down and gently kissed him on his tiny chest. "Ooh, Johnny baby, that was fabulous," Paul said to him.

They went to sleep soon after this, Paul curled up next to John's face on the pillow, with one of John's socks for a blanket. They talked a little about Paul's size issue before settling down for the night, but they both felt so good that it didn't worry them much, and they drifted off with ease, sure that a solution would be present on the morrow.

 

Paul awoke the next morning in John's bed, cuddled up under the blanket with him. He was normal size again. Thank God! His brow furrowed. Maybe it had all been a dream, after all? He absently ran a hand through his hair - or, rather, he tried to. He didn't get far because his hair was completely crispy and stiff, resistant to all touch. Suddenly the complete events of last night rushed back into his mind, uncensored, and he blushed deeply, realising what was wrong with his hair.

John opened his eyes sleepily and glanced at Paul. He squinted, grabbed his glasses, and then laughed when he got a proper look at Paul's hair.

"It'll take you a week to wash all that out!" he giggled. Paul grimaced at him and glanced around the flat for any signs of life. He noticed a piece of paper sitting on the floor near the head of the bed. He reached up and grabbed it.

"What's it say?" John wondered, trying to get a look at it. Paul read aloud.

 

_J & P:_  
_Gone down the chemist's to have photos made - took your camera, too._  
_R & G_

 

Paul and John looked at each other in horror. Five minutes later, dust settled in the empty flat as two pairs of hastily-booted feet ran pell-mell down the road to try to stop a disaster in the making...

 

The End!?


End file.
